


What does love mean?

by aliceinreality98



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Minor amount of alcohol, Romance, Self-Reflection, hints of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:16:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceinreality98/pseuds/aliceinreality98
Summary: Cid had been told throughout his whole life what love was and what it felt like. But looking down at Vincent and reminiscing on some of their firsts, Cid doesn't feel a damn thing.-It's a happy fic, I swear





	What does love mean?

Someone had once told Cid that love was a feeling. It was feeling butterflies in your stomach and having your heart race and your palms break out in a sweat. Cid was familiar with the feeling, he had liked a few folks pretty well. He could even say he loved one or two. It was this familiarity that had caught him off guard when he had met Vincent. Sure, his eyes were pretty cool, and his skin was as stunning as flowers or whatever the fuck people compare pretty things to, but he had his faults too. He could hold his alcohol better than Cid, for one. Cid prided himself on being the last one standing after drinking and Vincent had taken that straight from under him. Vince at least knew which end of a wrench to use, even if he was frustratingly clueless about the other aspects of machinery. He was a quick learner though, Cid could always appreciate a quick learner.

 

If Cid were to make a guess, he would suppose that their relationship had started the time Vincent had actually spoken to him during his repairs. Cid was partial to nighttime, it was among one of the only times a man could get some goddamn peace and quiet. It had taken Vincent several weeks aboard to begin accompanying Cid into the engine room, though Cid was sure Vincent had known about his habits since he first stepped foot on the damn ship. Ever the brooding insomniac, Vincent had remained silent until that night. Though that day had started off the same as every other, an air of change had laid over the _Highwind_. It had filled Cid with a sense of restlessness. He was unsure what was about to change, but when Cid sat himself in front of an irritating piece of work, he became aware of Vincent’s lack of presence.

 

It was unusual for Vincent to take so long to arrive, either appearing behind him as he sat, or already waiting. He always perched upon the same crate. Cid wasn’t sure what was inside it, Vincent had claimed it as his own and Cid had become reluctant to check. Oh well, if the ship was still in the air and no one was dead, it must not be too important. But the crate was empty tonight. Cid mused over why, perhaps the man had finally been able to sleep. Cid hoped so, it just wasn’t healthy for a person to stay awake for a week straight. At some point Vincent would become a liability in battle, all groggy and unfocused. A piece of metal lodged among the pistons caught Cid’s attention, and aggravation, and he immediately focused. Soon, he was in his own world, trying to figure out what the piece had been a part of, and how to straighten it back into place. He wasn’t sure how much time had past, but he was sure it was the opening of the hatch that brought him back to reality.

 

Seeing Vincent was not what startled him, what had startled him was Vincent's dress. Cid was aware the man must not sleep in that ripped up cape and metal claw, but to see him in pajamas was unexpected and odd. He had kept his bandana on, tangled hair and all, but had traded out his shirt and trousers for a sweater and linen pants, hemmed at the ankle. He did have a pair of thin gloves on, still shy about his hand, but Vincent had somehow thought it fit to remain barefoot. Rather than pass by Cid to take his place on the crate, Vincent instead sat, knees to chest, some small distance away.

 

“What, ya finally in the mood to learn a bit ‘bout the thing that's keeping ya in the air?” Cid had asked, using a wrench to loosen some bolts. “Lil’ cold to be barefoot, don’t ya think?”

 

“Not at all, I’m quite comfortable. And no, I was merely curious about what the noise I had been hearing all day was. It was very irritating.” That had caused Cid to pause in his work and turn to face the other man.

 

“Ya mean to say you’ve been hearing this god awful noise all damn day and haven’t said a thing?” Vincent had the decency to look a bit sheepish, no small feat considering his usual demeanor. It was a treat to see any expression besides neutrality or that brooding look, and Cid relished the sight. He had tried to commit it to memory, his pride and joy of an airship be damned.

 

“I was under the impression you knew, no one seemed worried and I knew you would be able to handle it at some point.” Vincent said. When Cid looked over, he was intently looking at the misplaced piece of metal, clenched between the teeth of the pistons.

 

“Fuck, Vince, we don’t all got yer super hearing, cough up all that dust in ya throat and speak up next time.” Cid huffed and chewed on the end of his cigarette. It was unlit, he knew better than to light it in the engine room, all that flammable gas and grease. Didn’t stop the desire to, though. For several long minutes, all was silent, save for the ever present hum of the engine. Vincent looked about ready to open his mouth when Cid interrupted him.

 

“Ya know, ya seem pretty confident in me fixin’ this shit.” Cid muttered, trying his best to focus on what project was in his hands. He failed. Cid glanced at Vincent’s face and saw a hint of mild surprise. Well, would you look at that, two facial expressions in one hour. It must be Cid’s lucky day.

 

“You’re a very capable man, Cid, few people are able to build an airship and fly it as well.” Vincent replied in a quiet tone of voice. After that, the two remained in silence, Cid only pointing to tools and Vincent handing them over to him. They then retired to their own rooms with a quiet goodnight and Cid’s palms were not slick in sweat.

 

Their relationship had progressed after that. They began to speak while Cid maintained the airship, and Vincent eventually learned the difference between screwdrivers. At some point, Cid wasn’t sure when, they began spending time in the common room together. Vincent liked to curl up with a book in hand, Cid liked to watch a movie, and, more often than not, they shared some beers. They enjoyed those nights, to sit in silent company with another was a special bond and they were delighted to have found it. No one in their group said anything about the two of them spending time together, either because they didn’t care or because they knew. It was during one of these nights, Vincent tipsy on wine, Cid with a beer, that Vincent had kissed him. Cid kissed back. He did not feel fireworks.

 

It had been the same the first time they had sex. With Cloud and Tifa visiting Barret, the  _ Highwind _ crew on their leave, and Yuffie doing whatever Yuffie did, the two had been left to their own devices. , they returned to Cid’s home. It had been a hot and humid night in Rocket Town, and as fine as Vincent was with the cold, he did not react well with the heat. Due to it being an awful time to lack air conditioning, the AC had obviously broken, and in a way that not even Cid knew how to fix it. It had only taken minutes after the AC gave out for Cid to take his shirt off, pants following, until he sat only in boxers and a sweat covered tank top. No matter what he tried to cool off with, a towel drenched in water, a cold beer, hell, even a cold glass of water, nothing worked. To the pure shock of Cid’s mind, Vincent remained hidden under all those layers of his.

 

“Vin, c’mon, ya must be baking under all that. I’m sittin’ in my boxers, at least take yer cape off, I’m not dealing with ya if ya get heatstroke.” Cid groaned and tilted his head back against the couch. All the fight he had in him had dissolved in the heat, if Vincent waked to cook in that leather, let him. Cid heard the clicking of buckles and the falling fabric and then Vincent was sitting there, in a damp black shirt and pants sticking to his legs. He also kicked off his boots and they fell with a hard clank. If Cid wasn’t so tired, he might have complained about the new dent in his hardwood floor.

 

“Better?” Cid asked.

 

“Much.”

 

“Well, feel free to take off more, this heat is somethin’ ridiculous and no one is gonna judge ya if ya strip down.” Cid said. To his surprise, Vincent started to unbutton his shirt, scarred hand shaking. He had stopped wearing his clawed gauntlet around Cid, and Cid understood the trust it took for the man to do that. It was a different thing altogether for Vincent to undress in front of him. In all their time together, going on a year, Cid had never once seen Vincent in any state of undress. He had been aware Vincent had scars and had chalked up his hesitation to undress as shyness. For fucks sake, Cid had shared a bed with the man and hadn’t even seen him change into pajamas. Seeing him shirtless was an new experience.

 

After so much time spent with him, Cid found it impossible to see him as anything other than beautiful, you had to be blind to say otherwise. To see him now was nothing short of stunning. His skin was impossibly pale and his black hair provided a harsh contrast, dark lashes falling on white cheeks. Even those red eyes Cid had once found unnerving now looked pretty. The scars on his chest were mean looking, yes, but on Vincent, they made him look interesting. It was proof he had survived what no one else could imagine. It showed a strength only Vincent possessed and Cid was struck with how lucky he was that he was the one Vincent chose to share it with. Fumbling for words, Cid said the first thing that came to mind. Cid was not a man of poetry, so his next words came only with embarrassment over their simplicity and not surprise.

 

“God, Vin, yer pretty.”

 

“Thank you, Cid.” Vincent replied with a small smile and shift closer to him. Cid didn’t mind the extra warmth.

 

“Would ya, uh, mind if I touched them?” Cid said as he glanced down at Vincent’s chest. It looked as if his chest had broken apart and the pieces had been put back together. Vincent’s eyes widen quite a bit and he looked at his hands folded in his lap.

 

“You may.” Vincent whispered. Cid wasted no time in dragging his fingertips over the larger of the scars. He traced it across his chest and over his shoulder. He couldn’t help but notice how Vincent’s breath hitched as Cid’s ghosted over his collarbone. Cid felt a feeling rise in his body, but it certainly was not butterflies. Later, when Vincent had called out and released on his belly, Cid tipping over the edge and finishing on the other’s thigh, neither of them felt shy. Cid only felt calm and loose, Vincent’s body warm against him and he welcomed it. Their skin had chilled with their sweat and, in the heat, they found only sweet release.

 

In the years following that day in the engine room, with bare feet and pajamas, Cid learned exactly what love was. As he gazed down at Vincent’s sleeping form, he knew love was the furthest thing from a feeling. Love was a choice that they made everyday. The feeling of butterflies and fireworks was fleeting. The love between two people could never be based upon something so flimsy, so breakable as a mere emotion. It was inevitable that two people fall out of love, the problem arose when they chose not to fall in love again. For as long as he lived, Cid vowed to search for the stars he saw in Vincent's eyes, even when Vincent himself couldn’t see them. The love was when they shared a bed after a fight, and touched their toes together, choosing to love through any spat. The love came when Vincent tried to make Cid’s favorite tea, failing miserably, and Cid chose to drink it anyway. It came to him when Vincent still hadn’t given up on making the tea, after all these years. It came to him when Vincent still failed every time and then tried again, because Vincent knew what made Cid happy and was determined to succeed. Cid looked down at Vincent’s face, with those soft lips and the dribble of drool Vincent would deny until the end, he knew that love was only ever a choice. And when Cid looked at Vincent, the only thing he could see was the future he chose over and over again.

**Author's Note:**

> See? Pretty happy.


End file.
